


Stars Over Midgar

by CorsairOriginal



Series: Days of Advent [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dreams, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Illustrations, Introspection, Party, Shinra Company, Wealth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24421945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsairOriginal/pseuds/CorsairOriginal
Summary: After the disastrous, failed launch of Shinra No.26, the Shinra Space Program has faced repeated budget cuts and layoffs. Palmer invites Cid Highwind to a gathering of Midgar's finest to help drum up powerful, public support for their department. Despite being the face of manned space flight, can Cid really put his best face forward?
Series: Days of Advent [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903474
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Stars Over Midgar

Cid stood in front of the mirror, grumbling to himself as he struggled with his tie. How long had it been since he’d last worn one? He could not, for the life of him, remember how these damn things worked. As he ended up with a knot that looked more like a noose, he nearly bit his cigarette in half in rage. Angrily he plucked it from his lips and stabbed it into the sink, letting out a last stream of smoke like an overheating engine.

His front door opened and he heaved out a weary sigh. Only one person treated his door like only a suggestion. “Not in the mood, Shera,” he called out. Furiously, Cid whipped the tie back out of a knot.

“I-It’s getting late,” Shera’s voice said from the living room. “I just saw the Tiny Bronco is still here. Shouldn’t you have taken off by now?”

“Should have,” he groaned, going back to his reflection. “Just one last…” He tucked the long end of the fabric through a new knot. “…One last…” As he straightened the knot it completely undid itself and he let out a frustrated, “I’m _never_ getting out of here if I can’t get this _goddamn thing to cooperate!”_

Shera poked her head into the bathroom, her reddish-brown bangs sweeping around her large, round glasses as she looked up at him. “Wh-What are you doing? I thought th-the party wasn’t until tomorrow night? Are you wearing the tie the whole way there?”

“No!” He yanked the fabric off and rubbed his face with a long sigh. “If I can get this thing tied here, I’ll just leave it loose enough to put on when I get ready.”

Shera gingerly reached for the tie. “Here. Let me help you. When have you even _worn_ a tie before?”

In resignation he handed it to her and turned to face her. “Can’t even remember the last time. How do _you_ know how to tie one?”

Her calloused fingers nimbly threaded the fabric in on itself and her hazel eyes shyly glanced up at him. “Guess you never saw any pictures of me from university. I had a phase.”

Recalling the collared shirts she had always worn when they were both interns, Cid grinned. “Better than me in one, I bet.”

Blushing, she finished her work and stepped back from him, clasping her hands together. “There. Y-You look like a million gil.”

Doubtfully, he smirked at her, adding a glance to the ridiculous sight of him wearing a tie with a T-shirt in the mirror. He snorted and shook his head. “I don’t know what planet I’d have to be from for that to be true.” He loosened it cautiously and pulled it off his neck. “Alright. Finally…Thanks…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Eagerly, Shera bounced on the heels of her feet. “You have your toiletries packed?”

“Yeah.”

“Floss?”

“Yeah.”

“You should bring cologne.”

“Don’t know how old it is, but I got some…”

“Your shaving kit?”

“I don’t need a pre-flight checklist, Shera. _Goddamn,”_ he huffed, walking out of the bathroom. Cid plucked his suit where it was draped over a chair in the kitchen. “Just…” When he turned, he paused as he saw her holding up a thermos to him.

“I kind of guessed you’d be flying late,” Shera said softly. “Take some tea.”

Half-smiling tiredly, he took the thermos. “…I’m not…sure you should get your hopes up.”

“Nonsense!” Shera chirped, following Cid as he walked toward the back door. “You’re the face of the whole department, we’re all counting on you.”

“Right. No pressure,” he sighed, opening the back cabin of the Tiny Bronco. He set his slate-grey suit, navy tie, and powder-blue dress shirt over one of the seats beside his single suitcase. After he slid the cabin door shut, he turned back to Shera.

“Say hi to Palmer for me,” she said.

His nervousness rising, Cid sighed heavily. Not even getting ready to fly was enough to calm his nerves. “Sure. Well, see you when I get back.”

“And say hi to Typhon.” 

At this some of his anxiety faded, grinning at her. “Alright, clear the runway. Midgar waits for no man.”

Trotting to the back door of his house, Shera turned to watch him start the engines. “I’ll lock up the house. Go get ‘em, Captain!” she shouted after him, tossing him an exaggerated salute.

Cid used his index and middle fingers to send her a salute back. 

* * *

Sure, the company would be reimbursing Cid for the hotel stay in Midgar, but he still had to pay out of pocket first. The whole trip would have to be worth it. 

He currently had his hands planted on the window, the rest of him leaning over the AC with it on full blast. If he couldn’t stop sweating like a faucet then no amount of deodorant or cologne was going to save him once he put on the suit coat. Finally, a shiver went down his spine and he decided that was enough.

Cid could do this. 

Throwing on his suit coat, he took a last glance at himself in the room’s full-length mirror. Enough mousse had tamed his hair, his face was clean-shaven, and in a suit he almost looked like a proper Shinra man. All he had to do was fool them all.

After a short train ride Cid arrived at the hotel where Palmer was waiting for him. Seeing Cid from across the lobby, Palmer waved him over to a coffee service counter. 

“Cid, wonderful to see you!” the director laughed as Cid approached. Palmer had changed little since the last time they had seen one another, maybe a few pounds heavier, a few more wrinkles around his eyes when he grinned, a little less hair in the grey tuft that topped his ever-receding hairline. The smile plastered over his wide face faded as Cid stepped up to him, however. “Oh. Hm. Is that what you plan to wear?”

Already feeling the urge for a cigarette, Cid stared at him mirthlessly. “It’s…the only suit I own.”

“Oh, dear, is it?” he mused, tapping his chin with his thick fingers. “Well, no matter.” As though he hadn’t just begun their evening with an insult, Palmer planted a hand on the middle of Cid’s back and led him toward the elevators. “So. I have a plan of attack for us.”

Anxiously, Cid adjusted his cuffs as they walked. “I admit, I’m still a little fuzzy on this. It’s not like Shinra has public investors to impress…are we gonna butter up old man Shinra?”

“No, no, no,” Palmer said quickly with a shake of his head. “Though I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit I’d choke a man for a butter tea right about now,” he added with a soft chuckle. As they stepped into an elevator, a hotel attendant waved off any other riders from joining a high-ranking Shinra director. While the doors slid shut an impish grin crossed Palmer’s face. “The President and VP aren’t in attendance.”

With a frown Cid scoffed. “Wait…how are we supposed to be rallying for a budget if they ain’t even here?”

“It’s time for a new strategy!” Palmer announced, raising a finger. “While the President has been steadfast in his gil-pinching, we may be able to drum up support from some of his social circles.”

Cid considered this, liking the idea less and less the higher the elevator climbed. “Uh…huh.”

“Get enough chatter, enough vocal support from friends and associates, and _surely_ the President and VP will have no choice but to reconsider our budget,” Palmer said with an ever-growing smile. “We’ll mingle, you’ll charm the room with your rugged, working-man pastiche and passionate speeches about space, I’ll lend legitimacy, and— _hey, hey!”_ He punctuated this with a sharp clap. “We’ll be constructing a Number 27 in no time!”

Cid rubbed his chin as the elevator came to a halt. The door opened and the two of them strolled out, Cid’s confidence growing with each step of his aging dress shoes on the plush, carpeted floors. “Yeah…Yeah, alright. You’re on to something.”

“Of course I am!” Palmer assured Cid with a firm pat to his shoulder. “It’s time to go to war, old friend.”

Cid wasn’t appreciative of being called “old friend” by someone who only spoke to him once a year to tell him more and more of his old teams were being reassigned to other departments or that all of his project proposals were being denied—or the war metaphor, for that matter. But he had to admit, tackling these sniveling sycophants head-on sounded like Cid’s kind of challenge. 

Palmer flashed an invitation to a security guard standing beside a set of open doors, and the two of them entered the grand ballroom. Immediately Cid’s bravado shrank as he took in the sight of the crowded, massive room—the live musicians on a high balcony, the crystal chandeliers, the shimmering, polished floors, towering windows leading to outdoor balconies and Midgar’s luminous skyline, marble staircases, and the easily two hundred guests in sparkling formalwear. 

No wonder Palmer had scoffed at his suit…

“Miss Zarif!” Palmer called out jovially, leading Cid to a small group in mid-conversation.

“Oh, Director Palmer,” a lovely woman with dark skin and an orchid dress greeted him, smiling with perfectly-painted lips. “Have you gained weight?”

He laughed painfully and scratched above his bushy eyebrow. “Ha, ha…excellent to see you too. Remember I said I would be bringing an associate? Please, this is Captain Highwind.”

Cid grinned and offered a hand, several of those present shaking by rote. “Just got here, but this is some party.”

“I was hoping to get the two of you talking. Why, just a few weeks ago Miss Zarif and I were discussing star patterns,” Palmer said largely. “Weren’t we?”

“Of course. I am a _fanatic!”_ Zarif laughed, airily sighing as she plated a hand on her chest. 

A genuine smile crossed Cid’s face, slipping his hands into his pockets as he straightened. This was going to be easier than he had thought. “Really? This is a great time of year for it—”

“You _must_ tell me your sign, Captain,” she pressed, plucking a glass of wine off a passing tray.

A metaphorical button had been pressed on the back of his head, abruptly interrupting his thoughts. “My…sign…”

“I’m a Bahamut myself,” she continued with a coy grin.

Another of the ladies present laughed and pushed a hand on Zarif’s arm. “Oh, well, suddenly a few things make a lot more sense. That fits you so well.”

Tittering, Zarif tossed her sculpted curls over her shoulder. “Like a glove.”

“…Star patterns,” Cid said through a pained smile. 

“Right,” Zarif affirmed. “Astronomy.”

“Astrology.”

She shrugged. “Same thing?”

Slowly, mechanically, Cid’s blue-eyed gaze swiveled to Palmer, who grimaced sheepishly. 

Palmer cleared his throat awkwardly. “I-I’m an ascending Frynos, you know.”

“—and you should see how clear the images are,” Cid continued to a different couple. The Shinra-made telescope in Cosmo Canyon had been the basis for the satellite telescope that had been launched several years before. Cid’s explanation of its intricacies had enraptured this group. It was some of the better luck Cid and Palmer had enjoyed so far. “It’s the first time we’ve gotten a good look at how stars are born—actually born.”

The middle-aged woman nodded distantly, then turned to her husband. “Oh, Charlie, do you remember that summer in Cosmo Canyon?”

“How could I forget?” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “What a waste they won’t let anyone build a bigger resort out there.”

 _“Such_ a waste,” his wife agreed. 

Cid shrugged awkwardly. “The only way they’ve kept the sky clear enough for their work is by keeping development out.”

The man grunted in irritation and rolled his eyes. “Oh, _tell_ me about their precious ‘work.’ There are not enough rivers for Canyon tribes to cry when anyone tries to make it accessible. It’s a disgrace.”

“Oh,” the woman scoffed in agreement. “But they’re certainly ready to accept tourist gil, aren’t they? It’s just so hypocritical.”

“Damn disgrace.”

It took all of Cid’s willpower to nod in feigned agreement. “You—You bet. Damn disgrace.”

One of the younger girls laughed as she leaned too far into Cid’s space bubble. The martini she was holding had clearly been all she had needed to enjoy the party. “Is there _still_ a space program? Like, _why?_ It’s just space out there, right?”

“There could be mako somewhere else,” one of her friends pointed out firmly. “I mean, like, why not try?”

Irritably, Cid said through a strained grimace, “I mean, lots we don’t know about is out there. _Plenty_ more than just mako.”

“Wait. But what else would be the point?”

“I thought Shinra 26 exploded in air. Didn’t it explode in air?”

Cid rubbed his eyes. “It’s behind my house, I promise it didn’t.”

The man shook his head and his lips tightened. “No, I’m pretty sure it exploded.”

“Highwind? Like the ship?” the young man asked. “My mom’s obsessed with that thing. You know my mother’s company has desperately been trying to get that heap out of the military’s hands. There’s no war, why is it not a cruise ship by now?”

Cid wordlessly turned his back and stormed away from the group of university-aged boys before he did something he’d regret.

“This is pointless,” Cid groaned, his hands desperately itching for a cigarette.

“No, no, no,” Palmer pressed with a large smile. “It’s been a lovely evening. You’re doing swimmingly.”

“If I have to talk to one more idiot I’m gonna throw ‘em off the balcony.”

“I hardly know what you mean,” Palmer chided him. “I thought things were going quite well. People are talking, you know. Remember, this is for the department, hm?”

Painfully, Cid let out a long sigh and his shoulders sank. After a long breath, he steeled himself to return to the fray. “Fine. Fine. It’s for the department.”

“That’s the spirit!”

A sharp clack of high heels caused the two of them to acknowledge the woman approaching them. With piercing, blue eyes she stared daggers into Cid’s face, visible even despite the smile on her pristine, ruby-red lips. Cid hadn’t met the tall woman in red before, but he knew her by reputation too well. 

“O-Oh,” Palmer murmured nervously. “Good evening, Scarlet.”

While her hair was primly arranged in a bun, there were enough strands of gold to curl around a finger. Her eyes were still locked onto Cid, even as she addressed Palmer: “Ordinarily I would avoid spending any more time around you than the boardroom, Palmer. But you certainly have the room talking tonight.”

Managing a simpering smile, Palmer straightened. “Ah, yes. Conversation has gotten a bit stale as of late, hasn’t it? I think some of these folks were due for a good stirring up.”

“Oh, certainly,” she laughed icily. “People do love a good show, but it’s not exactly dignified, is it? I’m not sure what you’ll think you’ll accomplish by bringing your portfolio of failures for display. I’m disappointed, Palmer.”

Cid’s brow hardened and his lips tightened. “Is there something you want to say to me, Chairwoman?”

“Not a thing,” she replied. “I don’t have much to say to anyone who can single-handedly throw away the kind of gil you managed to _so spectacularly_ in one day. At least nothing other than ‘you’re wasting your time, _former_ -captain.’ Maybe some of the vapid parasites here have forgotten about you, but I haven’t.”

While Cid swallowed stiffly, his teeth gritting to hold back bile, Palmer glanced between the two of them anxiously. “A-Are you still speaking to _me,_ Scarlet?”

Finally, she faced Palmer with a bright smile. “See you on Monday, Palmer. Although, the next time you plan to bring any of your pet projects to Midgar you might want to make sure it’s not the one that shat on the carpet.” With a graceful turn Scarlet walked away, the slits that trailed up her vibrant dress following the sway of her hips as she rejoined the crowds.

Numbly, Cid watched her go, a gnawing, smouldering emptiness coiling its way into his gut. He swallowed again, his eyes drifting to the floor. “…I shouldn’t have been here. I don’t know why I thought I could help.”

Palmer softly cleared his throat, idly tapping his fingertips together. “Ah, well…Why don’t we take a break, Cid? Hm?”

“Sure,” he mumbled dryly.

“I’ll be near the buffet,” Palmer offered cheerfully. “We…We can meet up again later.”

Cid sighed. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Whiskey,” Cid said to the bartender flatly. “You got Highland Mark?”

“Of course, sir.” The woman in a white shirt and bowtie nodded and pulled a bottle from behind her. 

As she set the readied drink in front of him, Cid’s shoulders sank wearily. “Not much of a ‘sir,’ kid. I hate being called that.”

“Is there anything else?” she asked calmly, unaffected by his moping.

With one swig he downed the drink, his face briefly twisting from the burn. He then held out a hand to her lamely. “Just hand over the bottle.”

She forced a customer-service-smile. “I’m sorry, sir. Would you like another?”

“Look,” Cid sighed. “It’s an open bar, and I’m just gonna waste your time coming back here over and over. Just hand over the bottle and you won’t have to get sick of me.”

The bartender lowered an eyebrow at him, then glanced both ways around the bar. Gently, she pushed the bottle in front of him.

“Thanks, kid,” Cid said with a tired smile. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Hope your night gets better,” she offered.

Cid rubbed his face before picking up the bottle. “Doubt it.”

Bottle and glass in hand, Cid searched the balconies for the most empty corner. He sank into a chair, propping an ankle on his knee as he slouched. With fluid movements he yanked a cigarette out from the inside pocket of his suit coat and lit it. Sneering vengefully, he loosened his tie and collar, then he poured himself a drink. Cid gazed upwards at Midgar’s sky, taking long, grateful breaths of his cigarette. As he studied the sky a frown crossed his lips and he rolled his eyes.

Time blurred as he sat listening to the chatter and music drifting from the ballroom, and the distant sounds of passing trains. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this newest failure to anyone in Rocket Town. It was the rudest wake up call he could have ever asked for, to find out that Cid himself was the toxin to his colleagues’ remaining hopes and dreams. Even though Shera had been the one breaking protocol, Cid had made the call to screw up the launch. He was the one who was remembered for it. But wasn’t Cid the only one qualified for a launch if they tried again? Would it be so wrong to give him another chance? If people like Scarlet had their way, Cid would never be given that chance ever again. 

If Cid was nearly as old as he _felt_ he could just retire, let someone else have a shot. Watch from the launch pad. Maybe it was the only way to get manned space flight in his lifetime. This brief thought felt like a stab in Cid’s gut. After another swig, Cid swallowed and leaned his head back. His eyes closed as he took a deep drag. Selfish as it was, Cid knew the whole Shinra Space Program could burn and he would still be clinging to it. Even for the good of the program he couldn’t let go. He would burn with it.

“So, this is where the Highland Mark went,” a voice said.

Cid’s eyes opened blearily, and he craned his head to look up at a man a few years older than himself in a suit who now lingered near the table. The man with slicked-back, black hair and a beard smiled down at him. “I was told if I looked around I might find it.” He held up an empty glass and shook it, grinning.

With a shrug, Cid fidgeted to straighten himself in the chair. “Go for it. If I demolish this bottle alone I’m never gonna make it back to my hotel.”

The man poured himself a drink and sipped it casually. “Beautiful night.”

“Bullshit,” Cid grunted, lighting a new cigarette.

His drinking companion turned back to him, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “Rough evening, then?”

Cid gestured to the sky. “No, I mean it’s not beautiful. This time of year on this continent you should be able to see the constellation Typhon clear as day.” He pointed to a spot near the horizon of the empty sky. “But look. You can’t see a damn thing.”

Arching an eyebrow, the man’s gaze followed Cid’s arm. “No, of course not. You’re in Midgar. There’s too many lights.”

“You mean there’s ‘light pollution,’” Cid supplied bitterly. “Polluted like every other freakin’ thing in this city. The air smells like shit, grass doesn’t grow for miles, and even the stars are polluted. Hooray for the goddamn miracle of mako.”

The man’s brow tightened and he topped off his glass. “It’s not a perfect system, but it’s the only way a city like this could exist. There’s plenty of studies that suggest there isn’t as direct a correlation between decay and ma—”

“And they’re all Shinra-funded,” Cid groaned, gesturing largely with his cigarette. “It’s not some goddamn _mystery,_ anyone with even the slightest scientific literacy knows it.”

A pause followed as the stranger smiled at him. “You have strong opinions about this.”

“I have strong opinions about everything,” Cid said. “And you’ve caught me at the perfect moment that I don’t feel like biting my tongue about it.”

Remaining calm with a gentle smile, the man took a long drink. “You’re Captain Highwind, aren’t you?”

“Yup, that’s me,” Cid grumbled. “Palmer brought me as the night’s entertainment.”

Offering his free hand, the man supplied, “Reeve Tuesti. Urban Development.”

After a short start, Cid turned to look up at Reeve, his stomach lurching. Another Shinra board member…specifically the lead engineer who had designed Midgar. “…Oh.”

Reeve didn’t withdraw his hand, waiting patiently for a shake. “It’s fine. I hear it a lot.”

Awkwardly, Cid gave a limp handshake, straightening in his chair. “I just…I haven’t had a good night.”

“I can see that,” Reeve said with a chuckle. “And to be honest, I know you’re not wrong. Your department has done some of the best work on alternative power, I respect that a lot.”

Cid shrugged. “Can’t pump mako to space. There have to be other options for satellites.”

“I had the chance to look at the designs for the Garland telescope satellite, it was incredible work,” Reeve offered, taking a step closer to the balcony railing. “The configurations for the solar panels were genius.”

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for most of it,” Cid said after a long drag. 

“Still, _you_ know who I should be looking for,” Reeve replied, his grin widening. “Skill like that shouldn’t be languishing in Rocket Town.”

Cid arched an eyebrow at him. “So, you’re here to ask me to _help you_ headhunt my own staff?”

“You’re talking to someone who is present for every budget meeting,” Reeve said. “I’d love to put in a good word for some of your project proposals…but I don’t want to see us lose any more good minds to restructuring’s axe.”

“You wouldn’t be able to get the lead for that project out of Rocket Town if you tied a behemoth to her,” Cid grumbled bitterly. 

“That’s a shame. I also would never make an offer to _you._ I’m aware you’ve had plenty of offers from other departments and you’ve turned them all down.”

Cid poured himself another drink and only sipped it. “…You’re acting like you’re trying to do me some kinda favor.”

“If I can keep engineers from the unemployment line, then they’ll be ready for another transfer when your department is a priority again.” Reeve turned to look at him sympathetically. “We’re all supposed to be a team, but I know it doesn’t always work out that way.”

Worn down by the evening, Cid felt his face soften by degrees. “…I could…I mean, sure, I know plenty of names. They…deserve better than what Palmer or I have got.”

“Don’t look at it that way,” Reeve assured him. “I only want to borrow some people for the good of Midgar. Space isn’t going anywhere.”

From the looks of it, neither was Cid.

* * *

On the porch of his home, Cid sat slouched in a chair drinking tea. His attention was locked on several groups of movers in front of houses down the road. They were loading furnishings onto trucks, the owners of which were headed to Midgar—to brand new, sparkling opportunities Rocket Town couldn’t give them.

As unannounced as usual, Shera jogged up the porch steps. She leaned against the wall beside Cid’s chair. “So many transfers. Town’s going to be quieter…”

Cid shrugged, letting out a long, smoke-filled breath. “It’s always quiet.”

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out in Midgar,” she offered gently. “Th-The higher ups will listen sooner or later. Heck, I was…I was talking to Jackie…she says as soon as they get to Midgar they’ll do nothing but talk up the Space Program.”

Cid shrugged again. “Did…Did anyone make an offer to you after I got back?”

Shera’s gaze followed Cid’s to the movers, only smiling for a time. 

“Did they?” he pressed.

She nodded. “I couldn’t leave Rocket Town, though. A wild behemoth couldn’t drag me away.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, Cid shook his head. “Figured.”

“B-Besides,” she said. “Midgar? Midgar is awful. I’ve heard the light pollution is so bad you can hardly see a single star at night. Who would be able to stand it?”

“I couldn’t see Typhon,” Cid agreed. “I stopped outside Midgar just to get a good look at it. What a pain in the ass. Who needs Midgar?”

“Who needs it?” Shera said softly.

For a time they sat in silence, waiting for the last of sunset to fade as the first of the stars dotted the sky. “…You might be right. Maybe they’ll listen sooner or later,” Cid said.

“Someone out there has to see the sky and want it,” Shera said firmly.

“We don’t have a lot of people on our side,” Cid admitted in a low voice. “But Palmer’s still trying. There’s…There’s a couple of others.”

“See?” Shera said, pushing herself off the wall. “You’ll get there. You’ll see.”

Or he’d crash and burn with the Shinra Space Program. Whichever came first. “Palmer and Typhon say hi, by the way.”

“I’m glad they’re still thinking about us.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's nothing quite like being a little too opinionated in places where opinions aren't welcome. 
> 
> Some may argue Shera and Cid are getting along too well, but at least according to Square canon they eventually marry. What little the audience sees of their relationship can't be how it was all day, every day if that was case. I like to think there were a lot of moments where they were better friends, despite how bitter Cid might be.
> 
> The constellation "Frynos" is "toad" in Greek. It's both a reference to the enemy Touch Me, and the fact that I consider Palmer a sniveling toadie.


End file.
